SO THERE'S ABRAHAM, counting goats, blowing raspberries on his son's belly or flirting with slave girls when his bitterly demarcating Lord demandeth sacrifice. Now, I understand. You want to make some things sacred, anointing an otherness. But that demon god of the Old Test is too much. He wants Isaac, Old Abe's only child. Wants him hacked up on an altar on the highest mountain. Fine. Cut the brat's throat. Burn his testicles. Give the perverted old Pater what he wants. That's Abe's decision, anyway. He endures a heart-wrenching climb, lying to his son. "Fetch some wood," he says. "We're going to give offering to the Lord." And Isaac gathers little sticks, whatever his small arms can hold. The air is cool on top of the mountain and the boy feels the breeze on his skin, enjoying it and the smell of the mountaintop. He puts a stone into his mouth, sucking on its smooth black surface as he bends his knees a little peeing over an escarpment of limestone. Then his old man takes him, pressing him down on the altar. He draws the blade. "Okay, God," he says, "here you go." And quick as the cavalry, God's angel lands. "Lo, bro, lower thine axe. God changed his mind. It was just a test." And a kid or lamb stumbles onto the scene. Abe sees it. Cuts it. Burns it. The story intrigued me as a child. It's an early tale of how the son should never trust the father. God doesn't always change his mind. The Hebrew God and the antique Greek deities have this in common.
Posted by Dale at June 27, 2004 03:55 PM